


Residue

by Robin_Fai



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Dark, Gen, Hurt Merlin (Merlin), Hurt/Comfort, Jealous Arthur, Leon is a decent guy, M/M, Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin), Nemeth, Non-Consensual Touching, Oblivious Arthur, Protective Arthur, Protective Gwaine (Merlin), Rape/Non-con Elements, Self-Blame, Trauma, Whump, could be read as pre-slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:14:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26145469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robin_Fai/pseuds/Robin_Fai
Summary: During a visit to discuss a treaty with Nemeth, the crown prince takes an interest in Merlin.Merlin begins to wish he had stayed safe in Camelot.When things go as wrong as they possibly can, will Merlin ever be able to return to Arthur's side?
Relationships: Gwaine & Merlin (Merlin), Leon & Merlin (Merlin), Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 30
Kudos: 325





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't want to over tag this but equally want to just reiterate to take heed of the warnings. This is not overly graphic and does not go so far, but could still be traumatic for some, so just a gentle reminder of the warnings.

Merlin kept his gaze down as he hurried along unfamiliar corridors and wished he’d stayed behind in Camelot rather than coming to this awful kingdom with Arthur. The man could surely have looked after himself, and not got assassinated, for a couple of weeks or so. He’d had the option to duck out of the trip, but stupidly his endless need to keep Arthur safe had won out and he’d come along with the small party of knights and the royal prat. 

The journey had been quite pleasant as far as travelling with Arthur ever could be. Leon, Gwaine, and couple of other knights he was not as familiar with were there to act as a bit of a buffer, which was good, but he was also the only servant so he had been run ragged catering to them all. Merlin had thought once they got to Nemeth that things would get easier. There would be the local court servants to assist everyone but Arthur. Since he wouldn’t be allowed into the discussions about the treaty he would only have to serve Arthur in dressing and meals, so would have much of the day free. Merlin thought it would almost be something like a holiday. He thought it would be nice. He was wrong. 

He had been so very wrong and now everything had fallen apart...

The problem was Crown Prince Metherell of Nemeth. It started out with things that were so small that he barely noticed them. They would pass in the corridor and Metherell would smile at him, tilt his head in acknowledgement, half raise a hand in greeting. At first, Merlin rather liked that he was being acknowledged rather than simply being the invisible servant. Metherell seemed a decent sort, as far as princes went. Certainly better than his own prat had been when they first met. 

Except that things got a bit odd after a few days. Metherell swapped the smile for a wink, the head tilt for a brush of the hand against his, the greeting for a clap on the shoulder that lingered just a fraction too long. Maybe it was normal in Nemeth to be so casual and tactile with servants, he told himself. So he began watching, tracking the interactions of the other servants and nobles, and came up blank. No one else was acting this way, and certainly not with a visiting servant of all people.

Merlin tried to put it to the back of his mind. Clearly Metherell was just a bit odd. 

The first feast he served at had Arthur seated next to Metherell. It was a logical arrangement, but not one Merlin was particularly pleased about. Metherell dismissed his own servant, claiming Merlin would be wasted serving only Arthur. Merlin was gratified to see Arthur give the man a confused glance, but he didn’t query the choice. 

As the night progressed, Metherell’s behaviour became more and more bizarre. When Merlin served him wine he would covertly reach back to pat Merlin’s leg. The first time it happened it made him jump so that he nearly dropped the pitcher he carried. Arthur reprimanded him for being clumsy, so evidently he hadn’t seen, or perhaps didn’t care. Then, as he got steadily more drunk, Metherell took to ‘accidentally’ brushing against Merlin whenever he came close. 

When Arthur finally decided to turn in for the night, Merlin thought he would be free to get away from the strange man, but then Metherell requested he stay on until the feast was over. Arthur had frowned a little but once more agreed. Merlin argued he needed to assist Arthur, but Arthur unhelpfully clapped him on the shoulder and said he could find a court servant to assist him. Merlin wondered why when Arthur touched him in that casual and friendly way he felt warm and happy, that his heart beat a little faster but it wasn’t unpleasant. Yet, when Metherell so much as looked at him his heart would race in something akin to fear, and his skin felt like it could grow ice it was so cold. 

Without the presence of Arthur the situation got worse. Merlin had been trying to work out why Metherell was acting the way he was, but when he ran a hand lightly from his lower back all the way down to his thigh he began to get the idea. This was the sort of thing that happened to the female servants everywhere. Camelot was better than some, they said, but it definitely still happened. He had never heard of it happening to a male servant though. Now he wondered if perhaps that because it was rarer that the victims of the unwanted attention were just too ashamed to say anything. That was certainly the way he felt. 

As soon as he was dismissed for the evening, Merlin fled back to his room in the servants quarters. It was a basic space, an empty shell of a room, and only contained his bag and his bed roll. There was nothing there to barricade a door. Not that there was a door. He had never felt more vulnerable. 

Part of him wanted to run to Arthur, to tell him everything, to seek safety and maybe even comfort. He couldn’t do that. He knew it was impossible. There was no way he could put Arthur in that position. To ask him to defend him from the royalty of the castle they were staying at would be a diplomatic disaster. He was only a lowly servant. He was no one. And it wasn’t even as if anything had really happened.

No, Merlin felt as though nothing had actually happened, and yet he also felt dirty. His skin tingled unpleasantly wherever Metherell had touched him, as though there were ants crawling under his skin. He wanted to get in a hot bath and scrub every inch of himself until he had washed away the discomfort that would not let him rest. He curled up in his bed roll on the cold stone floor and tried to chase away the memories. He didn’t sleep for hours. Every time he would doze off he would awake with a start, his heart pounding so hard, as though it wanted to escape his chest. Eventually he fell into a fitful sleep where he dreamed of being suffocated. 

The next morning saw him having to feign being ‘fine’ to an Arthur who seemed irritable and distracted. Nothing he did was good enough. Every slip or misstep saw him being ridiculed. Merlin had thought they were past this, thought they were friends, or perhaps something a little beyond that. Yes, he was a tad clumsier than usual thanks to the lack of sleep, but otherwise he didn’t see what it was he had done that had merited this sudden change in behaviour from Arthur. Despite the provocation, he managed to remain calm and professional until Arthur left. Once he was gone, however, Merlin locked the door and curled up on Arthur’s bed. It wasn’t his rooms in Camelot, but it felt like a refuge compared to his alcove. He didn’t mean to sleep, but the comfort, warmth, and safety drew out his fatigue and pulled him under.

Merlin awoke feeling feverish and disconnected. Drinking down a glass of water, he tried to work out how long he had been asleep. He probably needed to eat soon, he hadn’t since the previous evening, but even the thought of food made him feel nauseous. He removed the chair from the door and set to work on his tasks for the day. The routine of mending a tear in a cloak helped keep his mind clearer than it had been in hours. With each stitch he felt calmer. He would just have to avoid Metherell. He could plan his days to do so with relative ease. The only place Merlin would have to see him would be feasts, and it wasn’t like those would be every night.

His plan worked well for a couple of days. He would take a different route each morning from his room to Arthur’s, always avoiding parts of the castle he knew Metherell could be. Then he would find a task that required him to stay in Arthur’s rooms all day. Metherell was trapped in talks with Arthur, so unless they had a break he was safe, and even then it wasn’t like the man could barge into Arthur’s chambers uninvited. Each evening he would leave at a different time, and again take a different route. Arthur was still short tempered with him, but thankfully nowhere near as badly as he had been that first morning. Merlin hoped this meant _he_ wasn’t the cause of Arthur’s irritability.

He began to relax, which turned out to be a mistake. Merlin rounded the corner to his room on the third evening, content after a day of tending Arthur’s chainmail (not something he would ever have expected to find relaxing before), to find Metherell leaning against the wall of the corridor.

The walls were closer here in the servants quarters, and Metherell was tall and muscular from combat training, so he blocked the way to Merlin’s room effectively. Merlin noted with growing unease that, for all Metherell’s good looks, there was nothing soft about him as there was Arthur. 

“Sire.” Merlin bowed. He would not ask why the man was here at this hour.

“Merlin!” Metherell’s face broke into a smile that should have been attractive but instead made Merlin think of wolves. “I’ve missed seeing you these past few days.”

Merlin tried to think of something to say to that. He had _not_ missed seeing Metherell. All his usual ill advised retorts and impudent come backs fled his mind. 

“Is this where you are staying?” Metherell asked, glancing back over his shoulder to the dark space that held Merlin’s bedroll. 

“Yes, Sire.” Merlin replied. 

“You’re not staying in your masters chambers? Is that not the usual arrangement for a manservant?”

It was of course. That would have been the usual thing to do, especially on a trip such as this, so that he would be ready to tend to Arthur immediately upon his awakening. Arthur, however, was fond of privacy and getting as much extra extra sleep as he could, so they had never taken up such an arrangement. It had suited Merlin’s own needs too so he had never queried it. Not that he didn’t sometimes imagine what waking up next to Arthur might be like – but that was a whole other situation.

He didn’t realise he had failed to respond until Metherell reached up a hand and drifted his fingertips along the line of his cheekbone and then across his lips. Merlin froze, all thoughts were chased from his mind by a growing panic.

“Arthur clearly does not appreciate the gift he has been given in having such a fine servant. You truly are a beauty, Merlin.”

Merlin wanted to scream, to run, to burn the memories from his mind of the way Metherell acted like he was seducing him. 

He would decline him. He would say no. That was hard to do though when Metherell hadn’t actually said anything he could turn down as yet. Merlin knew that if he had this wrong, if Metherell really was just a strange kind of person, or if his motivations were something else like flattery to gain information, then he would be in so much trouble for suggesting he wanted something else.

Metherell turned and wandered into Merlin’s room. Once again, Merlin cursed the lack of a door. He had forgotten how much of a luxury it was to have that kind of privacy. He didn’t want to follow the man but couldn’t think of any excuse why he wouldn’t. Trailing reluctantly into the small space, he tried to come up with a plan, but all he could think of was magic, and that would be even more disastrous than any of his other ideas. 

Metherell turned and approached him. Merlin backed away instinctively until he felt the wall behind him. Metherell placed an arm against the wall by his head, then closed the space and kissed him.

This was the moment. This was the time to say ‘no’. Nothing happened. He didn’t move, he didn’t speak, he didn’t even breathe. 

Metherell drew back and once more traced the features of Merlin’s face with his fingers. Merlin fought back the urge to be sick.

“I am so glad you feel the same way, Merlin.” Metherell purred, still too close, far too close. 

_I don’t,_ Merlin wanted to say, _I don’t want this. Get away from me._ His mouth no longer seemed to work. Merlin could feel the heat of the man’s interest in him and he wished he had never come here, wished he had stayed safely in Camelot.

Footsteps sounded in the corridor. Metherell jumped and quickly moved away from him. 

“Alas, this is not the place for such matters. Come to my chambers tomorrow evening and we’ll pick up where we left off.” Metherell winked at him and then slipped out of the room soundlessly. 

As soon as he was sure Metherell was far enough away, Merlin fled. He ran through the unfamiliar corridors, not caring who saw him, and didn’t stop until he found his way out onto the roof of a turret. Dragging great gasps of air in, Merlin tried to push back the panic that was overwhelming him. He was sick over the parapet, then turned and pressed his back to the rough stone, hugging his knees tight to his body. 

It began to rain, but he didn’t move to find shelter. Instead, he sat in the driving rain until he was soaked to the skin. Now he felt as frozen outside as he did inside. Now his reflection was faithful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should be updating this one pretty quickly. Chapter 2 is already done, just need to get through the last one before editing and getting those up.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a day longer than I had planned to put up - Tonsillitis decided to attack me.

Merlin remained in the tower until the first light of dawn began to colour the sky. Only then did he unfold his stiff limbs and made his way slowly back to his room. In the cool light of day it looked so much less threatening than it had the night before. There was nothing to say what had passed within those walls, yet still they felt tainted. He gathered up his bedroll and bag and set off in the direction of the knights’ quarters. 

Gwaine was not pleased to be woken so early, but his expression shifted to one of concern when he took in the bedraggled and dripping state of Merlin.

“Merlin! What happened?”

“Oh, just a leak in my rooms.” He laughed, and he hated how much the laugh felt like more of a lie than his words. “I was wondering if you’d mind me sleeping on your floor?”

“Of course! Come on in.” Gwaine stepped back from the door to let him in. “It isn’t exactly up to Camelot’s standards but at least it’s drier than yours.”

“Thank you.” Merlin followed Gwaine in to the room and dumped his bag and bed roll in the corner. 

“Sorry I don’t have a bed to offer you.” Gwaine said with an apologetic smile.

“Oh, that’s alright, I’ve been in my bed roll since we got here anyway. No beds in the servants quarters here that I can see.”

“Oh,” Gwaine smiled, but his forehead creased in a frown, “well, you probably ought to get changed. You’ll catch your death in such wet clothes.”

Merlin laughed awkwardly. “Yeah, fair point.”

Gwaine sat down on his bed while Merlin pulled out a change of clothes from his pack. He realised he was putting off actually getting changed. Why was he suddenly so uncomfortable at the thought of doing that in Gwaine’s presence. They had travelled and camped together enough times before. He couldn’t let one kiss stop him living his life. He turned his back and hurried to strip out of his wet clothes and into the dry ones. Gwaine was chatting away aimlessly about a woman he was courting back in Camelot. It was soothing, the normality of it, even if he wasn’t particularly listening. Once he was changed he dumped the wet clothes near the door. He would dry them with a spell later, once Gwaine was gone.

The morning passed much more smoothly than he had expected. He was beyond tired, and quite shaky with that and the cold that seemed to have taken hold of him, but otherwise it was uneventful. He spent some time before he had to go to Arthur laughing at Gwaines tales of troubles he had gotten into over the years. It was so normal and comfortable that he almost forgot about the events of the past few days. Gwaine accompanied him when he went on to Arthur’s chambers. To be able to get access to the sleeping king was apparently not an opportunity he was going to pass up. Merlin knew he would pay or it when Gwaine awakened Arthur by whispering in his ear, but he didn’t care much – it was worth it for the look on Arthur’s face as he shot upright in fear and tried to throtle Gwaine. He found himself almost crying from laughter at the scene. 

The fears of the night still niggled at the back of his mind though. Once Arthur and Gwaine, who had invited himself to breakfast much to Arthur’s annoyance, went off to their negotiations he would be left alone with his thoughts and memories. He’d run out of mending so the hours alone loomed menacingly over him.

When Arthur left for the negotiations, Gwaine unexpectedly remained behind.

“They don’t need me for anything today. I’d just be trying to stay awake for hours. Do you fancy a ride? I’ve been cooped up in this castle for far too long now.”

Merlin didn’t even hesitate. “I’ll go get the horses ready.”

Gwaine hurried after him, “hold up, I’ll come along. We’ll make quicker work if it’s the two of us.”

They rode aimlessly through the woods surrounding the castle. The rain in the night had made the trees heavy with water droplets and the air fresh and clean. Merlin dragged it into his lungs as it could cleanse him of the thoughts that plagued him, wash away the way his skin burned whenever he remembered.

“Race you to that river!” Gwaine suddenly announced, startling Merlin from his thoughts. He was already several lengths ahead by the time Merlin had processed what he’d said and urged his horse to take up the chase.

Gwaine won easily, but Merlin got his revenge, using a little magic to stir the breeze in the tree over Gwaine so that it dumped a load of water down his back. He laughed as the knight swore about the unexpected cold dousing.

They watered the horses at the river in an easy silence. Merlin leaned against his mare’s side and tilted his face up tot the sky, letting the sun warm his face. 

“Merlin, you know you can talk to me about anything, right?” Gwaine said, breaking the quiet stillness that had fallen.

Merlin frowned and looked over to Gwaine. He was not looking at Merlin, but he could tell he was worried about something.

“What?”

“I…” Gwaine started, then sighed before continuing. “I know you like to think you have to do everything by yourself, but you don’t. I’m always here, if you ever need anything. Arthur too of course. Not that he’d ever admit it.”

Merlin tried to control the panic that was filling his lungs. “Why are you saying that?”

Gwaine turned to face him, an awkward half smile on his lips. “I know there wasn’t a leak in your rooms, Merlin. You said you had been using your bedroll but that was dry, and you were soaked head to foot. If someone here took it upon themselves to dump a bucket of water on you, or drop you in one, whatever it was, then you just need to say. We can put a stop to it.”

Merlin felt the fear ease a little. He had thought for one moment that Gwaine knew. “It was just a silly prank. The servants here are… odd. I’ll be safe from it if you’re still alright with me sleeping on your floor.”

“Of course. You’re always welcome, Merlin.” Gwaine paused and scuffed his boot in the dirt. Evidently there was more to come. Merlin held his breath once more. “I don’t mean to pry, but when you were getting changed… your back…” Gwaine trailed off and coughed. 

Merlin suddenly realised his mistake. Yes, he had changed around the others plenty of times before, but he had always made sure they didn’t see his back. They all had enough scars and wounds that the now faded burn from Nimueh wasn’t something that would draw attention, but the serket sting was another matter. He swallowed and looked at his boots.

“Oh, that.” Merlin plastered his best fake smile on his face. “Pretty embarrassing story actually. Fell out of a tree when I was a child.”

Gwaine nodded and the mounted back up. The ride back to the castle was much more quiet than the one out. Merlin was just too tired to pretend as well as he had before.

When they parted ways at Arthur’s chambers, Gwaine stopped him before he closed the door.

“Merlin, I know you didn’t get that scar falling out of a tree. I’ve never seen anything like it before. I’m not going to ask you about it again, but if you ever did want to talk, please know I’m here.” Gwaine gave him an easy smile and waved as he left. 

Merlin closed the door and leant against it. Part of him had hoped Gwaine would ask about what was going on now again. Part of him was desperate for someone else to know so that the burden wouldn’t weigh so heavily on his shoulders. If someone only knew and confirmed that the way he felt was valid then maybe he would be able to get past it. Perhaps if Gwaine knew he could help him form a plan to escape the cage he felt was closing around him. Yet he knew he would never tell anyone. The fear that they would laugh, tell him it was nothing, or worse tell him it was his fault, it plagued him.

An hour later, when Arthur got back from his meetings, he felt like it really was nothing. He had rationalised away the events of the past few days and decided that not only was he overreacting, but that it was his own fault. He should have been clearer with Metherell, should have told him that he did not reciprocate his feelings. When he didn’t turn up that night he would know and understand. Surely the other man would understand. He’d never acted in the least bit threatening or violent. It would be fine. It would all be fine…

Arthur was in a better mood than he had been that morning, so Merlin hoped that meant negotiations were going well and they could leave soon. Still, things were awkward, and Merlin couldn’t pin down why. Arthur was acting much as he usually would, but there was an edge to it, and that made him nervous. He was unusually glad to get away and back to the sanctuary of Gwaine’s rooms when he was dismissed for the evening.

He didn’t sleep well that night, constantly expecting a knock on the door. Metherell would find he had moved sleeping quarters, but he would not know where to, so there was no reason to expect him to come calling, and yet he couldn’t help but fear it. When the morning finally came round he felt himself relax. He felt safer now that the immediate threat had passed. Hopefully Metherell would get the message and leave him be now.

The next couple of days went well. Merlin found ways to pass the hours on his own in Arthur’s chambers. He felt less uneasy, but he was still tired and kept the door locked whenever he was sure Arthur would not be back any time soon. He managed to avoid Metherell entirely on his trips between the rooms. Maybe he had got the message. 

The third day after he had moved in with Gwaine things began to unravel again. Arthur returned from the day’s meetings with a face like thunder. At first he didn’t talk, but rather jabbed at his food and glared at Merlin. Once more, Merlin was at a loss for what he had done.

“Will that be all, Sire?” He asked, hoping Arthur would be glad to be rid of him.

“How are the servants’ quarters, Merlin?” Arthur asked in return. 

“They’re fine, Sire.” Merlin had a suspicion why he was asking and didn’t want to be proved right. “A little sparse, but suitable for a short stay.”

“I’m surprised that you know, seeing as how you’re not staying there.” Arthur jabbed at another lump of meat on his platter.

“Ah, right, well-” Merlin tried to think of an excuse, but his brain would not cooperate.

“Where _are_ you staying _Mer_ lin?” Arthur drawled in his best ‘disinterested’ tone.

“Well, there was a leak, what with all the rain the other night. So Gwaine kindly allowed me to sleep on his floor,” he lied. Better to stick to his story.

Arthur’s eyebrows shot up. _“Gwaine?!”_

So Arthur hadn’t known where he was staying. That was unexpected. “I… Yes.”

“You went to _Gwaine_ before me?!” Arthur slammed his fist down on the table in a sudden and uncharacteristic show of anger. Merlin jumped. He wasn’t afraid of Arthur. He was never afraid of Arthur. So why now did he feel like running away.

“I-” He moved to try and explain but Arthur cut him off.

“You chose to go to Gwaine rather than your king? Do you know how humiliating it is to hear from the other party in a negotiation like this that your servant has decided to move rooms without telling you, and _then_ to find out that they moved to stay with one of their knights rather than me?” Arthur kept on starting at Merlin and he found himself wanting to cry for the first time since the whole sorry affair had begun. “You should be here, with me, on hand in case I require anything, not lazing about with Gwaine.”

Merlin felt his temper grow “I wasn’t _lazing about!_ ” 

“Enough. I don’t want to hear about it. Go and collect your things. You will stay here for the rest of our time in Nemeth.” Arthur ordered. 

Merlin wanted to argue, to tell Arthur exactly what was going on, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel the humiliation, so he simply turned and left.

Arthur didn’t talk to him again from the point he returned with his bag and bed roll, right through the night, until the following morning. Even then he was abrupt and cold. It was as though they had never been friends. Merlin was beyond confused. He couldn’t see how what he had done could merit such a reaction. He didn’t want to admit to himself how much it hurt to be treated so unfairly. They had had their rifts before of course, but somehow this felt different.

As Arthur was leaving for the day, he turned back and coldly informed Merlin; “there will be another feast tonight. You will be required to serve myself and Prince Metherell again.” With that. Arthur turned and left without another glance at Merlin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Gwaine. Can you tell?   
> Also, I promise Arthur isn't going to be stuck in arsehole mode forever.   
> Chapter 3 is coming along so that should be up in a couple of days or so.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so this chapter grew a fair bit longer than I intended so I'm splitting it in two. Sorry this isn't the last one as I had promised, that should be with you in a day or two.
> 
> Just a note that the violence I put the warning on for and an attempted rape is in this chapter.

Yet another day alone in Arthur’s chambers left him plenty of time to fluctuate back and forth between ‘it was nothing, it was just a kiss’ and ‘this was my fault, and the shame will never leave’. It was quite honestly exhausting. The one thing he felt certain about was that he did not want anything more from Metherell, and he wouldn't leave him in any doubt about that if he should try to initiate anything again.

The thought of standing so close to the man again repulsed him. The memory of the way he had run his hands over him last time kept replaying over and over in his mind. And now it was joined by the way Arthur had looked at him this morning. He didn’t want to spend the evening between a man he would die for who now only looked at him with cold contempt, and a man who made him feel sick and used just by glancing at him, but he had no choice. 

Evening came round all too quickly. Arthur returned from his negotiations and Merlin helped him to dress for the banquet. Arthur managed to avoid looking at him the whole time and didn’t spare him even two words. Normally they would have walked down to the hall together, perhaps talking about how the day had gone, but now Arthur strode ahead of him, the perfect image of the imperious ruler. Merlin bit his lip until it bled. He had thought Arthur’s anger was painful, but this was something else. It felt like Arthur was pretending he didn’t exist, that he was no more than a tool to complete his daily tasks. Maybe he really was nothing.

Metherell’s gaze was also cool when their eyes briefly met as he took up his station behind him and Arthur. Merlin knew the instant the looked at one another that Metherell had got the message, but that it did not necessarily bode well for him.

The first time he went to serve the two royals wine confirmed all his worst fears. Metherell leaned towards Arthur to disguise his arm sneaking up Merlin’s back. When his hand reached under his tunic and nails dug into the skin of his back, raking across his spine, it took everything in him not to cry out in pain and surprise. His hand shook as he poured and a crimson stain began bleeding across the table. 

Arthur met his eyes for the first time that day and Merlin saw a flicker in the disinterested mask he was wearing. It was too brief to say what it was exactly that he had seen in Arthur’s eyes, but anything had to be better than acting as though he did not exist. 

It didn’t happen again all through the meal. Metherell got steadily bolder as the night wore on, running his hands and nails to places Merlin certainly did not ever want them. He wanted to tell him to no, to make him stop, but a feast was not the place for such matters. If he showed Arthur up now, then he felt certain that his already tenuous hold on his position as his servant would be lost altogether. He couldn’t lose that. He couldn’t lose Arthur. It was only one evening. He could put up with this for one evening. It wasn’t so bad really, he tried telling himself over and over.

Just one evening.

He could do this.

Just a few more hours…

Next time he stepped up to serve Metherell managed to get a hand between his legs. Merlin dropped the entire pitcher of wine.

Arthur was shouting, but he couldn’t hear him through the ringing in his ears. Metherell looked smug, the corner of his lip curled up in a smile that Merlin was sure would haunt him. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t process anything that was happening. He needed to get out.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out, and then walked from the room as fast as his unsteady legs would take him. Someone was calling after him, but he couldn’t tell who.

Merlin kept his gaze down as he hurried through the busy corridors and wished he’d stayed behind in Camelot. He bumped into people as he made his way against the tide of people heading to the hall to serve the next course. A platter went flying as he turned a corner and collided with yet another servant. He stepped out of the main thoroughfare and pressed his back to the wall. He needed to get a grip and get back to the hall. Running away was his only desire right then, but he couldn’t leave Arthur. Breathing was proving hard. He stared at his feet and imagined himself miles away, back home, having dinner with Gaius.

“Merlin, are you alright?” Metherells voice jolted him out of his reverie. He looked up at the prince and tried to think what to say, what to do, but once more he was blank. “Come on, let’s step in here.” 

Metherell wrapped an arm around Merlin and guided him into a room just along the corridor. He closed the door behind him. The room appeared to be some kind of tailor’s store. There were rolls of linen and leathers stored in alcoves in the walls, and a bench for rolling out and cutting in the middle. Merlin did not want to be in here with Metherell. He needed to leave now before there could be any more miscommunications.

“Sire, I’m sorry but I don’t-”

Merlin didn’t get to finish his sentence as Metherell pushed him roughly against the wall and kissed him. He struggled to get free, but the prince was stronger. He thought about calling out, but who would hear him, and what would they think if they came in and found them like this.

“You are so damn beautiful.” Metherell crooned against his lips.

“I don’t want this.” Merlin stated as clearly as he could. His voice shook. His whole body was shaking. He felt hot and scared and he wanted to be sick.

“Don’t be silly, Merlin. Of course you want this. You told me so yourself. Don’t you remember?”

Metherell began pulling at his shirt and his trousers. Merlin’s mind went blank yet again. Then it filled with a chorus of fear. _No, no no no, nononono!_ He shoved Metherell away from him as firmly as he could, intending to run, but Metherell grabbed at his scarf and then slammed his head against the wall. Through the dizzying pain of the impact, Merlin could feel the hot, wet, trickle of blood down his face. Metherell kept a tight grip on his scarf, so tight that it began cutting off the air to his lungs. His fingers scrabbled at it ineffectually trying to release the constricting fabric. His lungs were screaming for air, his head throbbed and spun, blood was running freely down his face and soaking into the scarf, there were spots on his vision, bright lights and dark shadows. Metherell manoeuvred Merlin around and pressed him over the table. His free hand grabbed at the ties of the waistband of Merlin’s trousers. 

Merlin reacted instinctively. There was so much he would do, so much he would give to protect Arthur, to keep him safe, and fulfil the prophecy. He would _die_ for Arthur Pendragon, but he wouldn’t do _this_. It wasn’t a conscious choice. His magic responded to the threat, throwing Metherell away from him and against the wall with a force he hadn’t known he was capable of. The sound of bones not just breaking, but shattering, broke through the static in Merlin’s ears. 

He lay doubled over the table, dragging in short ragged gasps of air that burned at his throat, for a long time. Eventually the world stopped spinning and he was forced to confront what he had done. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as it had sounded, but the deafening silence from Metherell since he hit the wall made Merlin suspect it was. He pushed up off the table and turned around.

It was worse. Far, far, worse than he had feared. The state of the prince’s body… Merlin knew there would be no denying that only magic could have produced such a force. The bloodied mess of a body made his stomach rebel and he was sick. He had done this. He had not just killed a man, but shattered him.

This was it. This was the end of everything. Arthur would kill him. It was all his own fault. 

His mind, formerly frozen and blank, was now racing. Endless scenarios flashed through his head; things he could have done, things he should have done, what would happen now. He had killed a man. He had crushed a crown prince with magic. There was no happy ending to be found now. 

Merlin turned and ran.

The corridors that had been so busy before were now empty. How much time had passed? He had no idea how long it had been. It felt like moments and yet it also felt like a lifetime since he had spilled the wine and left the hall. 

Arthur’s chambers were locked when he got back to them. Merlin unlocked the door with shaking hands and prayed that Arthur hadn’t returned. The room was thankfully empty, but he felt a paradoxical grief that he wasn’t there. Part of him longed for something impossible. He longed for Arthur to hold him, to protect him, to say he would keep him safe now. It would never happen. The part that truly hurt was that he would not get to say goodbye.

He had no time to spare for such feelings, so he packed away his bed roll with trembling hands, threw his bag over his shoulder and turned to leave. 

Sir Leon stood in the doorway, his face hard to see in the unlit space.

“Merlin?” 

Merlin tried to think of what to say, but the words wouldn’t come to him.

“The King was asking after you. He sent me to see where you had got to.”

“I was just… leaving.” Merlin managed to say. His voice was hoarse and his throat burned with every syllable he forced out.

“Leaving?” Leon took a step further into the room. He looked confused. Merlin had the window to his back and the night was dark. It was raining again, the heavy drops beating against the lattices of glass.

“Something… happened.” He tried to swallow back his fear. “I did something. I didn’t mean to, but I’ve got to go or… or the King would be put in a bad position.”

Leon took another step towards him and Merlin instinctively backed up, stumbling slightly and colliding with a bedpost.

“Is that blood? Merlin, you need to explain what happened.” Leon ordered.

“I can’t… I can’t. Please, Leon, if you care about Ar-” Merlin cut himself off. He couldn’t call him that. Not any more. Arthur might yet know it, but he would never see Merlin the same way again. Their friendship, or whatever it was they had, was irrevocable broken. He swallowed painfully and continued. “If you care about the King and trust me at all, then please, don’t ask why and let me go.”

Leon considered his words, his face serious. Eventually, he shook his head and Merlin began to panic. He couldn’t stay in this place and watch everything unravel, but he would never hurt Sir Leon. 

“The King trusts you more than anyone, Merlin. He wouldn’t want you to go like this, but if you really think there is no other choice then I’ll help you.” 

“No!” Merlin’s voice rose in panic but it came out more as a squawk than a shout. “You can’t. You need to get back to the hall. This is really serious. They mustn’t think you’re involved. They must not know you’ve seen me.”

Leon sighed. “Where will you go?”

“Away. I don’t know. I can’t say.” Merlin was tiring fast. He had used so much energy when he had killed Metherell. It was getting urgent that he get moving before he either collapsed from exhaustion, or the body was found. It couldn’t be long now.

“Head for Camelot. We’ll catch up to you in a day or two. Don’t worry, Merlin, we’ll sort this out, whatever it is. Stay safe until we can get to you.” Leon turned and left the room with a worried look back at Merlin. Though he couldn’t have said if it was concern for him or what he had done causing problems for the King.

Once Leon was gone, Merlin ran. He used a small amount of magic to see his path ahead and tell him when he needed to hide, and when he could run freely. He didn’t know this castle and the surrounding city like he did Camelot, but he still managed to get out and away before he heard the warning bell clanging out, sounding the alarm. The rain, that had been pelting down and soaking his clothes and meagre possessions, became a storm. Great arcs of lightning illuminated the night in blinding flashes. He was a fool to run in such conditions, but he had to keep going, put as much ground between him and Nemeth as possible before anyone could take up the chase.

Merlin ran and ran for what felt like hours without stopping until he tripped over a fallen branch and came crashing to the soft earth of the forest floor. He looked around from his prone position and decided he would have to stop. He was exhausted both physically and mentally, soaking wet, cold, injured, could barely see, and the weather was only getting worse. He wasn’t following a path and there was little chance guards would be trying to track him in the midst of a storm. This was the only opportunity he was likely to get for rest for who knew how long. So, he pulled himself into a hollow under the roots of a fallen tree, used his sodden bed roll for a pillow, curled up and tried to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, so here we go - last chapter! Sorry it took a little longer than I first thought when I started this fic.

Leon was troubled. He had re-entered the hall and been making his way over to speak to Arthur when two guards had run in and hurried over to speak with King Rodor. The King’s face went as white as a sheet and he left the room with one of the guards. The other guard had ordered everyone back to their chambers. The Camelot delegation was escorted back to Arthur’s rooms, reinforcing Leon’s suspicions that this was something to do with whatever it was Merlin had done. 

Gwaine lit the fire that had been set, but his eyes kept drifting to the door, waiting for the last of their group to arrive. The alarm bell sounded not long after. Leon began to have some doubts about his earlier choice of action. Perhaps he ought to discuss it with the King. Merlin hadn’t specifically asked him to keep their earlier encounter from Arthur, he had the feeling it was the rest of Nemeth he was meant to keep the secret from.

Arthur was pacing the room. “Where’s Merlin?” He snapped. “Leon - you went looking for him – didn’t you find him?”

Leon considered before he replied. He always found it best to contemplate the potential consequences of his words and actions. Gwaine’s stories were prime examples of why it was always a good idea to think before acting.

“I did find him, Sire. He was here, in your chambers.” Leon said. He paused before continuing. It really would be best if he knew what had happened before he said anything that could cause Arthur to act irrationally.

“Well, where is he then? It isn’t like he can have sloped off to the tavern here like he does in Camelot.”

Leon was spared from answering by a knock on the door. Gwaine looked relieved, no doubt assuming it was Merlin, but Arthur only frowned – he knew as well as Leon did that Merlin would not have knocked. Leon answered the door, revealing King Rodor and several armed guards. Rodor still looked pale and his features were marked with an obvious tension. Evidently something really bad had happened to shake the dispassionate king this much. Rodor looked around Leon and made eye contact with Arthur. 

“King Arthur, I was wondering if I might trouble you for a few minutes of your time.” 

“Of course.” Arthur agreed and beckoned Leon to follow him but held up his hand when Gwaine and the others might have also come along. Once they were out of the room and walking through the corridors Arthur asked, “might I assume this has something to the alarm and our being held in my chambers?”

Rodor shot Arthur an unreadable look. “It does. This is a… serious matter and I need to ascertain as many of the facts as possible before acting.” Rodor stopped outside of another heavily guarded room. 

Leon was sure he saw the hint of tears in the older man’s eyes. Something that could make the King cry could only be the worst possible news. 

“Rodor?” Arthur asked, his voice gentle. 

“I am sorry, truly, that this situation has occurred during your stay, but we must maintain appearances, so I need to show you… well, we will go in and then you will see.”

A guard stepped forward and opened the door to the room. Rodor sighed and then moved inside, followed by Arthur and Leon.

The scene that they found inside was not one Leon would forget any time soon. He had seen his fair share of death, but this was different. The crown prince Metherell had stood no chance against whatever force had pulverised him. He had never been fond of the man, there had been something overly sweet about him that made him suspect he was rotten, but he’d never seen anything to confirm his suspicion. Although this did go some way to making him think he was correct; you didn’t kill someone this violently unless you truly hated, or perhaps feared them.

Arthur was visibly shaken. “I am so sorry for your loss,” he said, and Rodor inclined his head in acknowledgement.

“It was only a matter of time, unfortunately.” Rodor sighed again and turned his head to hide his tears. “My son was a master of charm. The affection that gained from some made him believe everyone loved him. Whenever he is- was- met with resistance from someone he desired he would use force. I once tried to put a stop to his ways but it was futile. I always knew that one day he would try to force himself on someone who was more powerful and that it would end badly. I have been training up my other son and my daughter, Mithian, for some time already.”

Leon felt a surge of anger, though it didn’t show on his face. His years working for Uther had taught him caution in expressing his feelings or opinions publicly. They had also taught him that being royalty did not make one perfect, and certainly did not make them good parents. The thought of simply accepting that your heir abused his power to harm others, and then training up your other children in secret because you thought that one day the abuser would meet his end at the hands of a victim, was made all the more horrific by its reality.

He glanced at Arthur, surprised to find he looked furious. Leon wasn’t sure King Rodor would be able to tell. This silent fury of Arthur’s was so rare that few had seen it. He appeared on the outside calm and dispassionate, but there was a set to his jaw, and his eyes told of the depth of his feelings.

King Rodor looked to Arthur. “You understand my predicament here, do you not?”

“I do.” Arthur said tersely.

Rodor gestured for the guards to leave the room and close the door. Once they were gone, he continued, “the rumours would be widespread enough to be hard to deny even if the boy weren’t absent, and then there is the matter of the magic used.” 

At the mention of magic, Arthur’s fist clenched. Leon looked between Rodor and Arthur. He had not heard of these rumours they spoke of, but it was evident that he was speaking of Merlin, and given what he had said before about the Prince forcing people… Leon felt sick. The way Merlin had looked earlier, the desperation when he had spoken, the way he only thought of Arthur and Camelot after such an event was worthy of the greatest of knights. Merlin was better than the rest of them, magic or not. He feared that Arthur would not see things that way though. His feelings on magic were far deeper ingrained.

He recalled the sadness in Merlin’s eyes when he had promised they would sort out whatever had happened, that they would come after him. Merlin must have known then that if they came after him, it would be with a death sentence. He had killed a prince, likely in self-defence, and that alone would have been enough to see him banished at best, but the fact that magic use was so evident at the scene meant that there would be no other options.

“I would not wish to have him killed,” King Rodor said, surprising Leon. “Your servant’s actions were wholly defensible, but how can I not act accordingly? I cannot admit that I knew of my son’s evils and did not punish him, thus I cannot admit that he has any defence.”

“We will find and punish him.” Arthur said, his words cold and unfeeling. “If he flees to Camelot’s land then we can do so without you or I losing face.”

“The treaty negotiations cannot continue. Not for now at least.”

“No.”

“For me to be seen negotiating with a king whose _servant_ killed my son, it would only add to the disasters of this night.” King Rodor said with another sigh, and he turned away from his son’s body.

“Of course. We will leave at first light. We will announce that we are pursuing my servant to punish him. Perhaps that might leave the door open for the future?” Arthur said. 

“Yes, that would do.”

“I will send word once he is found and tried.”

“Send word in a few days regardless. No one here will recall your servant well enough to know the truth of it or not. Punish him if you are so inclined, but for my part I would not care. I should have acted years ago. Had I done so, then perhaps these sad events might have never occurred.” With that, Rodor turned and left.

Leon looked to his King. Arthur remained in silent contemplation for a while longer, then suddenly he spoke, his voice breaking slightly.

“Why didn't he tell me, Leon?”

Leon made a decision. "There is something I ought to speak to you about, Sire."

\----------

Merlin awoke to the sound of rain dripping through the canopy of the trees. It was calmer now than it had been the night before. There was a sort of hopeless melancholy in the soft monotony of it. His limbs ached with the cold, the damp, and the awkward position he had slept in. The wound on his head throbbed. It felt like his whole face was bruised. The scratches on his back itched as well. He hadn’t realised they had drawn blood until then. Then there was his throat – he didn’t need a mirror to tell him it was every shade of purple – it hurt to swallow.

The shock of what had happened must have kept him from realising the severity of his condition the night before. He needed to get up, to keep running, but his body wanted only to curl back up and sleep until he had no more pain, no more thoughts, no more memories. He had no choice though, he had to get out of Nemeth before he was found and executed. 

Merlin dragged himself out of his hiding place and looked around the forest. In the light of day he had no idea what direction he had come from, how far he had run the night before, and what direction he needed to go in to get out of both Nemeth and Camelot. It was a jolt of pain to realise that not being able to return to Camelot would mean never seeing Gaius, or Gwen, or any of the knights ever again. He had only thought of Arthur as he ran away the previous night. His instinct was to go to Ealdor. He wanted to see his mother. She would give him a hug, hold him close, and find a way to put the jagged, broken, pieces of his soul back into some semblance of a life. Except that couldn’t happen either. Arthur knew where he was from. Once Arthur knew what he had done then surely he would be hunted even if he fled from Camelot to Essetir. 

He could never go home, to either of his homes, or either of his families. The grief of it all felt like it might break him. Merlin sat down, the tears flowing like the rain. He cried for everything he had lost, and everything that had happened, and everything he had done.

Some time later the rain stopped, as dried out as his own grief. He was hollow now. The weight he had borne carried away on the wind. He stood, feeling disconnected from his own body, as though it were distant from what little remained of his mind. The rest of him was numb and empty. He began walking in what he assumed to be the direction that would take him away from Nemeth. He didn’t know where he was going, and he didn’t care. 

Merlin walked all day, stopping only to drink some water whenever he crossed a stream or river. At one stop he pulled the scarf from around his neck so he could wash. It was stiff with dried blood and he didn’t want to touch it again when he was as clean as he could get, so he left it on the bank. 

It was only when hunger and the fading light forced him to stop that evening that he realised he had left his bed roll behind where he last slept. It would probably still have been wet, but he knew he would miss it in the days to come. He made a small fire and gathered some wild fruit for a meal, then set his bag down to use as a pillow. The fire was small enough that it would go out in less than an hour, so it would be unlikely to bring the guards to him, but hopefully would provide a little warmth as he went to sleep. It was a risk, but he found he couldn’t bring himself to care.

He slept fitfully, dreaming of wolves and worse, and he was cold, so very cold.

When he awoke the next morning he felt warm. A comforting weight rested over his body. His fingers curled instinctively into the soft red fabric. 

Merlin shot upright, his eyes flying fully open. The pendragon cloak fell away from him. A fire crackled in front of him, but not the one he had set the night before. On the other side of the fire sat Arthur. Merlin’s heart stuttered in his chest. 

“I was beginning to think you weren’t going to wake up. It’s almost midday.” Arthur said quietly. Merlin was feeling too dazed to try and decipher what was happening.

"How did you find me?"

"After we found your first stopping point it wasn't exactly all that hard. Were you even trying to cover your tracks?" Arthur asked him, a wry smile on his lips. "The others are camped down near the river."

"Why did you come?" He asked. The way Arthur was acting so casually made Merlin wonder for a moment if perhaps he didn't know, if perhaps someone else had been blamed for the prince's death and that it was assumed he was merely caught up in it somehow.

"Leon told you we'd catch up to you in a couple of days once we'd sorted everything."

So he did know. They had followed him to bring him to justice.

“I’m sorry-” he began. Arthur held up his hand to cut him off.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Arthur asked, and the pain in his eyes was evident.

Merlin swallowed painfully. He reached for his canteen and took a long drag before trying to speak again, but his voice was still hoarse.

“I wanted to. I wanted to so many times, but you would have had me killed at first. Then later, well, I don’t know what you would have done, but you would’ve had to tell your father, or banish me, or something. I didn’t want to put you in that position. I never had a choice about magic. I was born with it. I’ve only used it to protect you… or I had… until…” Merlin trailed off and stared at the dancing flames, imagining a pyre. The cracking of the logs as they burned reminded him of the shattering of Metherell’s body. He bit his lip to keep from crying again.

“No, Merlin.” Arthur said, and his voice was too soft. “I can understand why you never told me about your magic, although I can’t pretend it doesn’t hurt that you lied to me for so long. What I cannot understand is why you never came to me about Metherell.”

Merlin looked up in surprise and met Arthur’s gaze.

“What?”

“First you went to Gwaine after the ‘flood’ that I presume was never actually anything of the sort.” Merlin felt himself flushing red under the intensity of Arthur’s stare. “Then you just carry on as if I was supposed to believe that you were perfectly fine for days. I heard the rumours. Metherell made sure I heard them. I thought you two were… I thought you were lovers. And it hurt that you would keep something like that secret from me, so I was angry, but to learn that probably wasn’t the case? To learn that he might have hurt you, used you, and that you never came to me? Merlin, I…” Arthur broke off and looked away into the trees.

“I couldn’t. How could I…? It would have ruined everything, the treaty talks… I couldn’t be the cause of that going wrong. I know I’m just a servant-”

“No.” Arthur cut him off. “Merlin, you are not _just a servant._ You are my friend. You are… you are the one person I completely trusted. And even if you had been nothing more than a servant you would still be a human being who deserves better than… than _that!_ I could have protected you. I _should_ have protected you!”

“Nothing really happened.” Merlin found himself saying automatically. He had told himself that so many times over the last few days.

“Merlin, your head looks like it met with a wall, your throat-” Arthur closed his eyes, took an uneven breath, and then pressed on, “-your throat tells me that he tried to strangle you, and you threw him against a wall so hard that his bones _shattered!_ That’s just what I can see and what I know about. You can’t tell me that that’s nothing. You cannot tell me that you would do such a thing to someone unless they truly deserved it.”

Arthur leaned in towards him from the other side of the flames. Merlin thought the compassion in his eyes might just be the end of him. The shame of it was unbearable.

“It was my fault.” He whispered.

“No.” Arthur was quiet but firm.

“I should’ve stopped him another way. I should never have let it get so far. He never even… he never got to… it was just a kiss and… and he touched me a few times. He did try to but I killed him. The treaty… I’ve ruined everything.”

Arthur looked angry for a moment, but then the look passed and was replaced with sorrow.

“This was not your fault, Merlin. Metherell had raped people before.” Arthur said. Merlin flinched at the use of the word he’d been avoiding, even in his own head. “He would have done it again. I am glad he didn’t get to do that to you, but it doesn’t excuse his trying, nor does it diminish the wrongness of whatever he _did_ do to you. There may still be a chance of a treaty in the future, but I would never have wanted an alliance with Nemeth while such a vile man as him was in line for the crown.” Arthur’s words were still so gentle, so kind, and Merlin hated it, hated himself.

“I should have been stronger. I should have told him sooner that I didn’t want him.” He whispered.

“You _were_ stronger. You were always stronger. To stop yourself from resisting him with magic before then when you have powers like that? That is true strength. And men like him, it doesn’t matter what you say. They only hear what they want to.” Arthur’s voice was strong and insistent. He could almost believe him, almost believe that it wasn’t his fault, and that he hadn’t destroyed his whole life and several others in the process.

Merlin pulled his knees into his body and hugged them with his arms. He wanted to pull the cloak back over his shoulders, but he didn’t feel worthy of it.

Merlin sighed. Once again he was left with a choice he wouldn't make. He had the power to get away from Arthur and the others, but he didn't think he could walk away now Arthur sat before him once more. “None of it matters though, does it? I’ve still ruined everything. Whether or not you think I was right to resist him, you’ll have to try me and have me executed. Whether it be for killing a crown prince, or magic, you’ll have to pass judgement.”

Arthur stood up, and for a moment Merlin thought he might walk away. His heart felt heavy. He didn’t know which would be worse; Arthur having him executed, or Arthur walking away and leaving him alone here with only his hideous thoughts for company. 

Instead of leaving, Arthur walked around the fire and picked up the fallen cloak. He resettled it around Merlin’s shoulders, then he sat down at his side.

“I’m not having you executed. Besides, I expect it wouldn’t work if previous experience is anything to go by.” He gave Merlin a small smile.

Merlin was certain this whole conversation was designed to kill him. 

“Previous experience?” He asked, trying to sound innocent.

Arthur rolled his eyes, “I’m not a complete idiot, Merlin. Once I knew… well, a lot of things made a lot more sense. I honestly don’t know how you can be simultaneously such an accomplished and such a terrible liar.”

A flicker of hope ignited in his heart and died just as quickly. Even if Arthur didn’t have him executed he would never be allowed to return.

“But the law.”

“Laws are made, and laws are changed, and I am the king.” Arthur poked at the fire, stirring the embers into renewed life.

“You’d legalise magic?” Merlin couldn’t believe that could be true, no matter what the prophecy said.

“With restrictions, yes.” Arthur replied.

There was joy and fear, hope and pain, all mixed up in him now. 

Merlin was shaking, “I still killed a prince.”

“Self-defence. The man was a rapist and a creep. I don’t see any case against you there.” Arthur put an arm around Merlin’s shoulders and drew him in to his body. Merlin closed his eyes and rested his head on Arthur’s shoulder. 

“I thought I would never see you again.” He mumbled against Arthur’s chest.

“You don’t get away from me that easily. Besides, Gaius would have killed me if I’d not brought you home.” There was a pause, Arthur’s hand on his arm tightened ever so slightly, then he added, “he probably still will once he sees you.”

“Not your fault.” Merlin yawned. His throat burned from so much use while it was still so sore. The warmth, comfort, and safety after so many days spent balanced precariously on the edge of something lulled him towards sleep.

“It isn’t your fault either. And if anyone _ever_ tries to hurt you again, then I’ll kill them for you.” Merlin could feel Arthur’s voice rumble in his chest. It was quite possibly the most soothing thing he had ever felt. 

“What happens now?” He asked between yawns.

“Now I take you home.” Arthur replied simply.

The last knot of fear loosened in Merlin’s chest. The wrongness, the shame and guilt that he had felt for days, hadn’t gone away and he suspected it never would completely, but he was no longer grieving. He had a home to go to. Arthur didn’t hate him. He wasn’t to be executed. Arthur was taking him home and they could protect each other. More than that, the burden of his secret about having magic was lifted. Arthur knew now, and he hadn’t lost him because of it. His exhaustion made itself known once more and he fell asleep in Arthur’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd say 'I hope you enjoyed this' but I'm never sure 'enjoy' is the right word for this kind of fic. Maybe 'I hope you liked it' is a better way to put it? It's 6000 words and several chapters over my original aim but I'm kind of pleased with the way it went in the end. Anyways, thank you for reading!


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